


Reborn

by axumun



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Free," Adam repeats. "I can..."</p><p>"What, give me that? Do you know how many times I've heard that?"</p><p>"Tommy."</p><p>"<em>What</em>?"</p><p>"Breathe."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reborn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_glitterz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_glitterz/gifts).



> [RATED FOR SAFETY!]
> 
> Written for this prompt: _Tommy is underage (don't care how old but not too young..maybe 14-17) and he hates, abso-fucking-lutely hates his mom's new bf/fiance...so what does he do?? He tries to find someone else he might think is suitable for her...let it be warned that she is a Cougar(likes em young)...Tommy meets a guy named Adam (late 20's, early 30's) and completely bypasses his plan b/c of course, he wants Adam all to himself..._
> 
> Age difference is definitely not my thing, but I tried to make it work. I tried to put my own spin on things, because, to me, a teenage Tommy going all 'unfunfunf' over some strange man twice his age did not sound realistic. I hope it worked out.

"We don't have a singer."

"No, we don't." Tommy hides his eyes, studying the strings on his guitar as if they're the most fascinating distractions known to the universe.

"Should we find one? How would we do that?"

The question goes right over Tommy's head. He tries to think of people from school who can _really_  sing. He knows a couple of sophomore girls who have pretty good voices, but they're just not rock-band material. Ronan and Rob care about image way too much sometimes, but honestly, they have a point. Those girls can pull off solos for the spirituals they sing in chorus like nobody's business, but they couldn't rock-shriek to save their lives.

They need someone that can fit in by standing out.

"We can get by without one," Tommy throws out. He knows Ronan will get pissed at him if he doesn't get an answer. "For now."

"What about Adri?" Ronan's eyes go starry and hopeful, and it makes Tommy sick.

Adrianna is the very girl Tommy'd had in mind when Ronan mentioned singers. She has a fantastic voice, but again, it just doesn't belong in rock. Ironically enough, Ronan is head over heels for her, and this isn't the first time he's brought up her name this week. As if she'd really be interested in sweating in Ronan's basement every day after school. He'd rather not hear her complain.

"You asked her," Tommy reminds him. "She said no."

"No. _You_ asked her, and she said no. I told you to leave that to me."

At that moment, Rob says, "She doesn't fit. It wouldn't work."

Everyone goes quiet. Rob doesn't say much, but when he does, people listen. He's like the voice of reason, only without much of a voice.

Tommy breaks the silence with, "I've gotta get home."

"Don't let _him_ get to you," Ronan says, like he always does. It's the only time he ever really sounds sincere. He can beat on drums like he was born to, but for the most part, the guy's got a rotten squash for a heart.

And, though Ronan doesn't specify any name, Tommy knows exactly what he means. He hangs up his guitar and heads home in the rain.

*

"You're all wet."

 _No shit_ , Tommy wants to say. He almost says it, but he's too angry, too tired, too wound up to speak.

The man he does _not_ think of as Scott - just _him_ - pins Tommy with an icy stare, like he does every day, as if he's looking for a fault to point out; looking for something he can say to ruin Tommy's day. Again.

"Playing with that stupid band again?"

Tommy keeps his head down.

"Look at me, boy." As if a leash were tugging on him, Tommy's eyes snap up, reflecting that same bitterness. "I've said it once, and I'll say it again. That stupid little cult of yours ain't ever gonna get anywhere. You guys don't even have a singer! Why do you even try?"

Without a comment, Tommy just walks through the open front door as his sneakers track the rain and mud onto the wood floor of the living room.

"You take those damn things off! And clean that up!"

As if Scott hadn't spoken at all, Tommy asks, "Where's Mom?"

"The fuck do you care?" Scott slams the door behind him and stands directly in front of Tommy, blocking him. Slowly and softly, though with the same bitter tone, he says, "I told you to take those shoes off, boy."

Boy. Scott only ever calls Tommy 'boy' when Mom's not home. It's Scott's way of laying all of his red tape, his way of displaying authority he doesn't even have, his way of thinking he owns Tommy without ever laying a hand on him.

Tommy sighs, but he kicks his sneakers off and kicks them away, walking in rain-soaked socks to the kitchen.

"So, _boy_..." Scott knows how that simple three letter word upsets Tommy. Tommy just never shows it; never says it. Every time the word reaches his ears, though, Tommy tenses up, his eyes go a bit wild, and he fists his hands against his thighs. He can't hide it. It's threatened to taken him over. Boy. Boy. _Boy._  "Answer my question. Why do you even try?"

"It's what I love," Tommy says, knowing that by saying that, he might as well have shot himself in the foot. "It's what I wanna do, who I wanna be. They need me."

Scott scoffs. " _Need_ you? Do you know how many guitar players they could find at that school that have more skill and a better attitude than you do? They're all over the place! Hell, you could find 'em on the street by the dozen! What makes you so special?"

Tommy holds back a snarl. He knows Scott just _lives_ for this moment, _lives_ for the six-o-clock hour when he gets to take another swing at Tommy's armor. He doesn't have long, he knows, before it breaks.

The door opens, and though it's Tommy's mother that enters, Tommy thinks it might as well be God. Or, _would_ be, Tommy thinks, if you believe in that sort of thing.

"Hi, honey. Have fun with your band?"

"Yeah. Hi, Mom." Tommy fakes a smile.

Just like that, Scott becomes a completely different person. His face goes from gnarled and beastly to a warm and bright, flashing an inviting smile, and something unsettles in Tommy's chest. It's a sick transformation, and Tommy can't think of anything to compare it to.

Despite this, there is _one_ thing Tommy finds most sickening about Scott: the ring he put on Tommy's mother's finger. More than the cold words and the icy eyes and the presumed control, it's that ring keeps him up at night.

*

It only gets worse as the days pass. What Tommy now thinks of as an anchor in his stomach is only getting heavier and heavier every time he sees the way his mother looks at Scott, the way she looks at the ring. She thinks he means it. She can't imagine the truth Tommy's never had the heart to tell her.

He's living off of her money. He's too lazy to find a job (he says he's tried but got laid off, but Tommy doesn't really believe a word of it) and he sits around drinking all day, and Tommy knows that when they're drained of cash, when his mother can't spare another penny for Scott's fun and games, he'll take off. He won't think twice about it.

It's convenient, Tommy thinks, that Ronan has had plenty of experience with Scott (which is, oddly, the only thing they really have in common). Tommy's heard so many horror stories from him about how Scott treated him and his mother, the same way he was now treating Tommy.

"Whenever he breaks up with a woman, he'll try to get a job, and he'll stay with it for a few months until he finds someone else and quits. He never goes for the rich ones, either. I don't know why. And, he probably reuses the same ring; he practically forced my mom to give it back to him."

Tommy sighs. They're not very rich, and neither are Ronan's folks, he knows. Maybe Scott just loves controlling people, whether it be Tommy, Ronan, or any woman he had used before his mother and every woman that would come after her. He just loved to _control_ , to _influence_ , and it seemed he couldn't do so positively.

He wants to just write it off with a _whatever_ and get back to playing. He catches Rob's eye for a moment and suddenly kicks himself for getting him mixed up in his own drama. He didn't need Ronan's shoulder, and Ronan didn't offer it. All he offered was his basement to practice in after school, and some advice here and there. Advice Tommy never asks for, but always keeps in mind. Ronan knows that.

"I know a singer," Rob says. He garbles something about how his mom's aunt's third cousin's daughter's uncle's mother knows a friend of a friend who went out to some club where a very talented vocalist was playing a gig.

"Said he was a little... _old_ , though. Like, late twenties. Probably no reason he'd wanna play around a bunch of kids, but I hear he's really awesome; really has a voice for our kinda thing."

 _Our kinda thing_ , Tommy thinks. They don't even have a _thing_. They don't even have a _name_.

"She said she'd get his name the next time she sees 'im. Said she'll go back every night 'til she figures out who he is."

Tommy thinks nothing of it. Someone'll get his name, maybe even meet with him or call him and try to set something up, then he'll be busy or won't want to do it (for reputation's sake, probably; Tommy knows too many people out here that would probably never get over themselves enough to accept an offer to sing with some high school nothing-band). He forgets it, and almost abandons all hope for any future for them - for him - at all.

"That's the most we've heard out of you in a week," Ronan says, right back to his rotten-squash-heart ways.

It's almost six, and Tommy doesn't even have to announce his departure; Ronan lays a firm hand on his shoulder and tells Tommy not to let _him_ mess with his head, or something like that. He tries in vain to change that line up every day.

*

"So," Tommy begins, already worked up from an increasingly dreadful day. He hopes shedding more light on this mystery singer will make him smile a bit today. "Any leads?"

Rob says, "His name's Adam."

"That's it?"

"Kinda." Referring to his mom's aunt's third cousin's daughter's uncle's mother, or whoever the fuck spotted him, he continues, "She talked to him for a minute. Said he was real busy, but he'd love to give us a shot."

Tommy rolls his eyes. Had they expected anything more?

Rob goes on to say that, according to this "whoever" relative, Adam had seemed really sweet, and very willing to work with a few high school kids; that he didn't have much of an ego at all. That sounds nice, Tommy thought. A nice change from all the people he sees on the streets who demand attention; people who probably wouldn't stop to perform with some no-name kids if their lives depended on it. He knows there have to be others out here like Adam, but he's never seen them.

After a couple of songs that don't really come together, the clock strikes six.

*

Scott smokes. A lot. The trouble is, he never smokes around Tommy's mother, and he only does so outside, conscious about discarding the cigarette butts, so she never knows. She _does_ know about the beer, but she doesn't know how much he drinks every day.

"Go to the store, boy, get me some beer, will you?"

Tommy shakes his head. "I can't."

"Why? Don't even tell me it's 'cause you had a bad day."

"It's illegal. I'm only seventeen."

"Fuck." Scott crushes an empty can - his last can - in his fist. "You don't look it, either. You look twelve with that stupid haircut."

Ignoring the remark, Tommy says, "I could get you something else." Then, boldly, he adds, "Or, you could go buy some yourself."

"Hell no. My game's on."

If there's one thing Tommy will never understand, it's why football has to be  such a die-hard passion, practically a way of life, just for the people that watch it.

Tossing some bills into Tommy's hand - bills that _should_ be with his mother - Scott says, "Then get me a Coke. And don't take all day."

*

Tommy considers himself lucky that he lives so close to a grocery store. Actually, _Scott_ should be considering himself lucky. He's the one who keeps asking - demanding - Tommy to buy things for him, and with his mother's money, no less.

This isn't the first time Tommy has plotted safe, legal ways to get rid of Scott. Telling the truth is out of the question. His mom probably wouldn't believe it anyway; would keep on gazing at that damned ring with love that isn't reciprocated. Then again, if she _did_ believe - especially since Tommy hardly ever lied - she'd be a wreck.

Tommy was afraid that, if his mom really knew Scott, she'd never smile again. Whenever she was with Scott, she smiled - really, truly _smiled_ \- even if she shouldn't have been. Even if she didn't know that there was no real reason to smile; not for _him_.

As Tommy becomes lost in his own mind, tangled among his own thoughts, he absentmindedly wanders into the road. He only comes to when he realizes that a car - the _only_ car on this typically busy street, he notes - barely misses him as it swerves, the screech of the brakes and rubber on pavement enough to deafen Tommy. His heart practically flies out of his chest, air punched from his body, his thought process completely ruined.

Once he gets enough sense to get back onto the sidewalk, he notices that the car's _coming back_. It pulls up on the side of the road - just enough so that the cars can get by - and the driver's side window rolls down.

"Are you okay? You scared me."

Tommy barely registers the man's words; really only notices the way the dying sunlight lights up his strikingly blue eyes, only notices the freckles scattered across the pale skin of his face and the hand he can see through the window, slender fingers clinging to the steering wheel in a nervous death grip.

"Yeah. Sorry, I was just..."

"Tommy?"

Awed, Tommy nods his head slowly, hesitantly. "How did..."

"A friend of yours showed me a picture. She, uhm, she said you guys need a singer for your band. Believe me, I'd be happy to do it, but I'm real busy. I'm barely paying the rent; I have to focus on other things."

"Huh." It's definitely _not_ what Tommy wants to say. Something like _okay_ or _nice to meet you_ or _sorry to bother you_ would have sufficed. But, in all honesty, even with the awkward chance encounter, Tommy hadn't expected anything else.

He quickly adds, "So, you're Adam?"

Adam nods.

"You look...lost," Adam says, worry coloring his tone. He doesn't know the half of it. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Two things kick into place. For one, Scott would go ballistic if Tommy didn't hurry back with his fucking Coke, and for another, his mother would cut a bitch if she knew Tommy was talking to a stranger. He knows he needs to get home.

"Maybe we could play a gig sometime," Adam suggests. Tommy is utterly shocked that it's Adam who's trying to come up with a plan B, and not the other way around. "Y'know, if you want to. Or-"

"Sure," Tommy blurts, though he's never played a gig before. He's technically not old enough to go to nightclubs or bars, if that's what he means. He doesn't want to be a Cabaret boy. "I gotta get going. Sorry for scaring you."

Adam smiles, flashes a peace sign, and drives off.

*

"It's kind of scary," Tommy says. "He knows what we look like. Why did she need to give him a picture?"

"Visual learner," Rob says. "She assumes everyone needs pictures."

"Adam seemed nice," Tommy adds, wanting to end the subject of Rob's 'whoever' relative. _Then again_ , he thinks, _Scott seemed nice, too_.

Apart from that, it's the first time Tommy's used Adam's name, apart from when he'd verified it with Adam himself. He can't help but like the way it sounds; like the weight of the word on his tongue. If he were alone, he'd repeat it, just to feel it again.

"There's a talent show two weeks from now at school," Ronan says. It seems he's given up all hope when it comes to Adam so much that he couldn't even talk about him anymore. "Think we could pull it off without a singer?"

Dead silence falls over the three before Ronan adds, "I could ask Adri again. She already wanted to perform, anyway."

Tommy sighs, but doesn't object.

*

Watching Ronan from across the cafeteria as he approaches Adrianna, Tommy hears Rob laugh for the first time since the day they met. "He's gonna make a fool of himself."

Tommy doubts that for once, though. Ronan has always had the ability to muster up some confidence and sincerity when it has mattered most. Like now. He can't hear what they're saying, but he sees Adrianna smile, and that just has to be a good sign.

Ronan practically skips back to their lunch table, his green eyes alight with a sheer happiness Tommy hasn't seen from him in what seems like eons, and says, "She said yes!"

"So she's coming to practice?"

"Yeah!"

Another sigh, and silence.

*

Adrianna actually _does_ fit relatively well with the boys. She dresses in colors that are uncharacteristically dark for the usual bright, happy hues she wears. Her hair is down as opposed to being in braids, and Tommy thinks she looks a lot better that way. And, if the way Ronan's nearly drooling is any indication, he thinks so, too.

She knows a couple of Zeppelin songs, since her father is, apparently, quite passionate about classic rock. She can sing them well enough, though Tommy isn't really sold yet.

After a couple more days and practice sessions, they decide on a song, and they stick with it.

*

"Mom," Tommy begins over the TV when Scott steps out of the room, "I wanna be in the talent show this year. Is that okay?"

"With your band?"

Tommy nods.

"Sure, but if you're going to do that, you need a name."

 _Right_. Tommy thinks, just as Scott takes his seat right next to Tommy's mother again. That sickens him, too, the way he hogs the couch and curls up against her like she's a fucking body pillow, almost like he's trying to crush her.

"Talent shows are for sissies," he says.

"Scott," Tommy's mom warns. "It's what he wants."

"Which is exactly the problem!" Scott has never been this irrationally angry with Tommy's mother around. "That's the problem with all kids today! Their parents let them do whatever the Hell they want!"

While Scott might have a point, for once, Tommy wants to say that his theory can't possibly apply for every move he makes, every breath he breathes. It would figure if it did, though. Somehow.

"I want to," Tommy croaks. "I will."

 *

There are two dress rehearsals before the show, and Adrianna looks as bubbly as ever, but she still seems focused and determined. She's never done this before. The only experience she has with stage performances consists of her chorus solos, and that's still more than Tommy and the band have.

The last minute band name isn't exactly a unanimous decision. Ronan really likes the name Phantom, as simple and unoriginal as it is, and they're stuck with it because no one else has better suggestions.

When their time comes, and the curtains open, Tommy isn't scared or anxious or anything at all. He feels completely at home. It isn't until Adrianna starts singing that his fingers wander nervously, and he exchanges worried glances with Ronan.

She's completely off pitch after the first three words, almost like she can't hear herself. She looks sickeningly pale, and she seems as if she might faint at any moment. At one point, she stops singing altogether, and Ronan, eager to play the role of Prince Charming, hops from his drum set and catches Adri as she topples over, saving her from splitting her head open if she were to fall off of the stage.

While the moment is sweet, straight out of a Disney film, it isn't helping their song. Tommy and Rob can't hold up the song alone with their respective guitar and keyboards, and they meet eyes as well, knowing they're doomed.

Adri is carried away by a couple of teachers, and just as the principal, who, of course, is hosting the show, is about to dismiss Phantom, a familiar face (familiar to Tommy, anyway) jumps up onto the stage and grabs the mic.

The shock simply from Adam's presence is enough to make Tommy question his sanity. He picks up right where the song left off, and sings it better than Adrianna ever did during practice, moves about the stage and just _goes_ for it. Ronan is back on his drum set, and all three boys' spirits have somehow been lightened some. When the song ends on a blazing glory note that the windows can barely hold up to, the crowd rises to their feet as if summoned, and they clap and scream and whistle like Tommy's never heard before, an audience of about a hundred making as much noise and cheer as a thousand people.

Adam doesn't bow; doesn't take any credit. He jumps off of the stage and lets the band take in their reaction.

Phantom, without any doubt, wins the first place trophy.

*

"You sounded amazing up there."

Tommy is pretending to look for his mother, when he's really been seeking Adam.

"So did you," Adam returns. "You guys are really good for your age."

 _For your age_. God, he hates that. "I guess that counts as our gig?"

"I guess so. I heard you'd be playing here; I wanted to hear you. I thought I might as well help you out." Adam's smile reflects the moonlight, and it's only then that Tommy realizes how late it is.

"Is that girl okay?" Adam asks.

"I don't know. I think it was just the heat. She usually sounds really good." _Not as good as you_ , he doesn't add.

People are pouring through the doors, slowly making their way to their cars and driving away, one by one, two by two, until the lot is empty again, and Tommy realizes that his mother is nowhere to be found.

Forgetting Adam for a moment, Tommy calls, "Mom? Rob? Ronan?"

"She's gone?" Adam glances at his car, one of the few vehicles left.

"It's too far to walk home," Tommy says. "She never leaves like that. She wouldn't leave...She..."

"Tommy." Adam looks up at the sky, words heavy on his tongue, the only option left, but saying it, giving life and breath to the suggestion will only scare Tommy. He says it anyway. "You could...Ride home with me."

At the very inclination, Tommy goes tense and unsure. A sudden wind makes him shiver, makes him grip his guitar  a little tighter, until his knuckles go white. Adam's eyes...They're so honest, so pure, so _beautiful,_ but he can't give in to them. He can't. He did that with Scott.

"I know it's not the most attractive option. I'm kind of a stranger still, and my car's a mess, but..."

"Okay," Tommy says, weakly, not knowing what else he can do. He doesn't know if he can trust Adam, doesn't know if he can trust at all. But he has to.

*

"Sing," Tommy says. He doesn't ask.

Adam obliges silently, turning up the radio and joining in with the chorus of some pop song. It's not his thing, but Adam's got a killer voice.

"Just up this road," Tommy says, and he shivers, almost afraid that Adam won't stop. He releases a breath he never knew he was holding when Adam puts a foot on the brake.

"Thanks," Tommy says, not opening the door yet. "Seriously. We wouldn't have done it without you."

"I'm sure you would have figured something out," Adam returns with a laugh. "But, you're welcome."

Tommy grabs his guitar from the back seat, along with the trophy (Ronan will probably ask for it tomorrow, for playing the hero, but whatever) and opens the door. Adam gently taps his shoulder. "Hey. If you ever need anything..." he scrawls his number on a piece of scrap mail, "...anything at all, and I mean, I don't care if you _killed_  somebody, I'll help you."

Nodding, but not smiling, Tommy leaps out of the car, closes the door behind him without looking back, and prepares for the worst.

*

"Ronan said you were driving home with him!"

"What?"

"And, where is your cell phone, Tommy Joe?"

Tommy cringes. Only his mother, and the occasional hot girlfriend, calls him Tommy Joe. This must be bad. "I left it here."

"Why the-"

Scott slams the front door as he comes in, soaked from a sudden onslaught of rain. "Who was in that car?"

"Car?" Tommy's mother's jaw drops.

"There was a man in that car, Tommy, did he drive you home? Did you hitchhike?"

"No! He was...He was the singer. You remember, Mom. He got up on stage when Adrianna fainted."

"He _drove_ you _home_? And you _let_ him?"

"You left me there! Ronan was already gone! He never-'

"Get out." Scott says. Firm, sharp, and cold.

"What?"

"Get _out_!" Scott practically rips the front door off of its hinges as he opens it, face wicked and snarling.

Tommy holds his composure, not wondering why his mother didn't stop him, not wondering why Scott was pretending to be so concerned about riding home with a man that was strange and, in a way, not so strange at all.

*

It's still raining. Tommy tugs the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He's empty handed. No guitar, no trophy, no phone. All he has is the scrap mail.

The scrap mail, and a few quarters. Tommy smiles.

He runs to the grocery store, the closest payphone he knows, and dials Adam's number with shaky fingers. He can't sleep out here. Not in the rain. He'll freeze. So, as much as he hates it, he has to rely on a man he hardly knows to shelter him.

"Hello?"

"Adam? Adam, it's Tommy."

"Fuck," Adam mutters. "Tell me what happened."

*

The house is actually an apartment; a very small but comfortable apartment. It's perfect for one person.

All of Adam's clothes are way too big for Tommy, but he manages to find a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that doesn't fall off of him. He should probably shower, but not here. He's almost afraid to ask.

"My step-dad-to-be," Tommy begins, "Is a two faced jerk with no soul. My mom's clueless. She just wants to be happy, it's all she ever..." He clears his throat. "The band's going nowhere. I'm failing math, and I'm close to failing science. My so-called friends are greedy liars, and my dad...He's not around. That's pretty much my life."

Adam sets a cup of hot chocolate in front of Tommy, saying he only uses it for rainy nights like this. "You can stay here for a little while," Adam says, siting beside him on the couch, "But not for long. You've gotta face everyone eventually."

"How? You can't help me; they think you're a pedophile or something. And, they won't believe a word I say anyway, so..."

"Hey." Adam carefully spreads his free hand over Tommy's upper back. He feels Tommy's muscles contract, but he eventually accepts the touch. "You can't hide behind me forever, Tommy."

"But I'm not!"

"No, you're not." Adam's fingers drag against the shirt, never touching skin. "I'm just warning you now. You can't do it. There aren't a lot of things I'll tell you that you can't do, but that's the biggest one."

Tommy goes silent.

"I know I seem strange. I know I don't seem safe. I wouldn't ever hurt anyone, Tommy, and I sure as Hell wouldn't ever hurt you. All I can give you is a roof and a bed. Well...A couch, I guess. Sorry."

Adam sighs, realizing that Tommy might as well have turned to stone, thinking that nothing he can say will make him feel better.

"You like movies? I've got some over there, if you wanna-"

"Adam."

Tommy can't give just one reason why he simply said Adam's name. Perhaps it was to feel its weight again, or perhaps it was just to shut him up. "I'm not some dumb little kid. I know who I am, I know what I want. It's just...No one will let me go after it. It's this stupid age thing...One more year and I can technically do whatever the fuck I want, but Scott hates that. It's like he's afraid of people. He wants to limit them as much as he can to make sure they don't do anything stupid. I can't live like that. I need...I need to be free."

"Free," Adam repeats. "I can..."

"What, give me that? Do you know how many times I've heard that?"

"Tommy."

" _What_?"

"Breathe."

No matter how hard he tries, Tommy can't seem to take a deep breath, and suddenly, he feels suffocated, like he can't remember how to think or breathe or _live_. It's not until his throat seizes up and he loses control of his voice that he realizes that, for the first time in probably several months, years, _eons_ , he's letting himself cry.

Tommy stays absolutely still, shaking and gasping, trying to hide his tears. Adam leans in, wrapping sure, strong arms around him, still not touching skin, but gently rocking back and forth. Tommy has no choice but to bury his face into Adam's chest, just as strong as the rest of him, and let himself go. He cries and whimpers and yells and screams, the way that he never allows himself to, especially not around others. He doesn't let himself break this easily, never has.

Adam's hand moves to the back of Tommy's neck, and like never before, Tommy feels protected and cared for. Sure, his mom is a nice woman, and a good mother, but Tommy can hardly remember what she was like before Scott, and so according to him, she was tainted. Still loved, but tainted.

It's been so long since anyone - even his own mom - has held him this way, shielded him from the rain and the wind and all the stupid things people did and said. It was too much, just too much, too fast.

With closed eyes, almost forgetting who he's with but simultaneously remembering it all, Tommy kisses him. It's kind of like the _thank you_ that he can't verbalize, the last shard of reality breaking away from Tommy's mind. With that kiss, everything Tommy once knew and believed and worried about means nothing. He now exists in a world where nothing is what it seems, where age is a stupid number, where need meets the strangest kind of want.

*

"Tommy," Adam says, voice wary, "I'm not-"

"I know." Tommy knew from the first moment he entered this new world - this new mind - that Adam wasn't going to fuck him. He didn't want that, didn't need it. What he craved so badly was freedom, and he was convinced now that Adam _could_ give him that.

There's something undefinable about Tommy, and Adam hopes to keep it that way. Part of him is starting to hate himself for doing what he's doing, since technically, Tommy still _is_ a kid, and technically, nothing's stopping his mother from looking for him, from knocking every door in the neighborhood until she finds him, and Adam freezes for a moment, wanting to stop, wanting to wither away, wanting it all to stop, and Tommy only wants more, more, _more_.

He's impossible.

It doesn't stop the kisses, the touches, the _feelings_ he _can't_ stop, that he wants to stop, yet needs to keep, needs to remember. Adam reminds himself that, for Tommy, this isn't an act of sex. He's still letting go. He still wants to be free, and he can't do it on his own.

Keeping this in mind, Adam moves lower, kissing across Tommy's stomach, palms open against his chest and hips, fingers eventually moving down to caress the very tip of Tommy's cock.

Tommy bucks, the touch so familiar yet not at all, so strange, yet so right. Almost right. The way he is now, almost nothing is right.

The touch goes from a teasing flick to an all-encompassing hold as Adam's fingers wrap around the length of Tommy's cock, and Tommy wants to scream again, only this time in want and not in need. Adam's fingers begin an agonizingly slow downward stroke, then back again, growing and steadying before growing again, and Tommy can't take another second of it; can't hold off much longer.

He almost blurts out a warning, but Adam's back to kissing him and his strokes quicken. Just a little more just a little more; he wants to say it, wants to give Adam something more to work with, but he can't get his voice to work. It takes only seconds, but they pass like hours as Tommy finally comes.

Tommy's only done this to himself a couple of times before with a clumsy hand and a half-assed attitude. But this, with this temporary frame of mind that consists of only his insanity and dark desire along with someone _else's_ hand, is better than he ever could have dreamed.

*

It takes a long time for Tommy to finally leave the next day. He showers and dries his own clothes, promises to keep in touch, and he's gone. He's back to his own self, but will never forget a second of last night. Not for as long as he lives.

*

"He's gone," Tommy's mother isn't on the verge of tears as Tommy would think she would be when she says this. In fact, she almost seems happy about it. Tommy doesn't mention last night at all, and he certainly doesn't mention Adam.

"I wanted him gone. He was a fake. Can't believe I didn't see it."

"Mom, stop." It's the first thing Tommy's said since he's been home.

"I'm sorry, honey. He made me blind. He made me forget a lot of important things." She holds up her left hand, conspicuously missing the ring. "But he won't be coming back."

Tommy smiles like he hasn't smiled since he was small. This has to be the greatest day of his life. Scott is gone, Adam's number is still secured in his pocket, and he feels _free_. Free as he's ever been.

"Oh, God, baby, where did you sleep?" She puts her head in her hands again, but Tommy comforts her; makes something up that he knows she'll believe.

*

"Hello?"

"He's gone."

Tommy feels a smile over the phone line, and after a pause, Adam says, "Scott?"

"Yeah."

"So, you're okay now?"

Tommy breathes in, breathes out. "Great, actually. Like I'm reborn."


End file.
